EXTRACTS. THE RETURN OF THE BURIED ONE. 'Twas late, late on a Sabbath night! At the hour of the ghost, and the restless sprite ! The mass at Carelha' had been read, And all the mourners were bound to bed, O God! that such a ray should be So fraught with ambiguity! No sound was heard throughout the hall, The lady of Carelha' first broke The breathless hush, and thus she spoke: "Christ be our shield! who walks so late, And knocks so gently at my gate? I felt a pang-it was not dread— O! death is a dull and dreamless sleep! The step and the foot of my Mary Lee! He took the key with an eye of doubt, He wrench'd the bolt with grating din, He thrust out his lamp, and he thrust out his head, But he sank on the earth, and the form came by. She enter'd the hall, she stood in the door, And nought was heard within the hall, "()! lady mother, thy fears forego; "I saw thee dead and cold as clay; O'er Mary's face amazement spread; She knew not that she had been dead; She gazed in mood irresolute: Both stood aghast, and both were mute. From the Pilgrims of the Sun. 18 INVOCATION. THOU holy harp of Judah's land, That I may sound thy sacred string, Pour forth the tracing notes again, Or heights of Zion's holy hill. O come, ethereal timbrel meet, In shepherd's hand thou dost delight; On Kedar hills thy strain was sweet, And sweet on Bethle'm's plain by night. And when thy tones the land shall hear, The mountain lyre that lingers near From the Pilgrims of the Sun, |